


Heart Rain

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 08:06:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15601992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Greg gives Mycroft some advice and the Iceman listens.





	Heart Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts - Rain

It was less than forty-eight hours ago. It felt like a lifetime. The detective inspector thought he had seen the Brothers Holmes through a lot before.

_Yes, the truth will set you free, but that? That was purgatory..._

Greg ran a hand through his hair, making the silver spikes stand on end.

_God, what a mess!_

A homicidal psychopath for a sister. Decades of his parents not knowing. The world turned upside down with Sherlock the steady one everyone turned to.

_And Mycroft._

Greg looked out at the light rain that came with the new morning. It was raining like this the near dawn Greg had rescued Mycroft from Eurus’ prison cell. It was a full out thunderstorm by the time he had dropped Mycroft off to the huge mansion he lived in. In all the years he had known the man, Greg had never seen the Iceman so…

_Well, beat..._

He had wanted nothing more than to pull the man into his arms and tell him it was going to be okay, but he could not.

"A good heart rain, a good scotch and a good friend are what is needed for times like this." Greg had mused, mostly to himself as Mycroft’s driver wove them through the wet streets. He was not even aware he had spoken aloud until Mycroft wearily responded.

"Heart rain?"

"Oh, something my grand-mère would call a good cry in the rain. Get a bottle of good scotch, put it in a waterproof bag, then go out in a good soaking rain and let the tears out. Let them out from the heart. If by chance anyone saw you and you didn't want them to know what was going on, you can simply say you forgot your umbrella and got caught in the rain. When you're done, take the good scotch, find a good friend or someone you love and get it out of your system that way if anything is left. Not necessarily in that order, but all three must be involved for it to work." Greg explained sheepishly.

As he fully expected, before he finished speaking, Mycroft had snorted with disdain at the suggestion. Greg remembered he had smirked at the time. As if Mycroft Holmes, with his elephant memory, who had sat in the back of the sedan with a death grip on his constant accessory as though it were a life line, would _ever_ forget his umbrella.

_Mycroft cry? Really now?_

Of the three, only the good scotch would happen.

Not for the first time Greg wondered who did the enigmatic man call when he needed someone.

Not for the first time Greg wondered if a man like Mycroft had someone to call.

And not for the first time Greg wondered if he could be that someone someday.

"Today would be a good day for a heart rain." he said to himself wistfully as he looked out at the grey wet morning a moment more before heading into the shower to start his work day.

“Mycroft?!”  

It was a surprise, to say the least, when the detective inspector opened his door a little over a half hour later. A dripping wet minor official of the British government stood trembling at his front door in a way Greg knew had nothing to do with the precipitation. There was a plastic bag in one hand bearing a vague liquor bottle shape.

“What happened?” Greg asked stunned to see the man at his door.

"I… I forgot my umbrella and got caught in the rain?"

“You… you consider me a good friend?”

“No. No, I do not, Gregory. And I don’t think you consider me one either.” Wet, red-rimmed, blue-grey eyes peered into his with truths that could not be denied.

The ramifications of what Mycroft’s words meant nearly floored Greg.

Greg opened his door wider to the man who looked like he was made of anything, but ice at the moment They both ignored the unused long black object with a curved wooden handle that made its way to the stand by the front door.

Neither man made it into work that day. Mycroft Holmes entered into Greg's home as Sherlock’s brother, but he left as so much more.


End file.
